


Conflict of Interest

by TomasNostradamus



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 21:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomasNostradamus/pseuds/TomasNostradamus
Summary: Gilbert is a doctor who has had a really hard day. After work, he finds himself unwinding at the coffee shop. And maybe he also finds a woman.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 15
Kudos: 87





	Conflict of Interest

**Author's Note:**

> Another one shot. Apparently I've had a creative week.
> 
> This is not our typical Gilbert and Anne. Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t too different, I want you to be able to envision these two and all, but they are older than we are used to seeing and maybe a bit more… not necessarily pessimistic, but realistic, perhaps a bit jaded, hard to say. I’ll stop explaining now and just let you decide for yourself what you think of these two. Please let me know! And as always, a thank you to Jane_E and dianawithaj for letting me bounce ideas off of them, encouraging me to try this idea and for help with the title.
> 
> This idea came from a bored panda list of strange conversations overheard in LA I think.

An outsider would look at Gilbert and assume he was doing pretty well in life. In fact, an outsider would call him extremely successful. They would see a handsome and intelligent man with a loving extended family, a beautiful girlfriend and a thriving career. What an outsider couldn’t see was that his family was found by chance only after suffering immeasurable loss and his relationship with Winnie would at best be considered one of convenience and at worst it would be called what it was: a roommate he occasionally attended parties and had sex with.

He was certainly thriving in his career though; that wasn’t a façade. He was the youngest pediatric oncologist at his hospital, yet already ranked among the best. He lived for his job. He truly loved it and put everything of himself into it but on these days where there was only failure and, in turn, death; these days were hard.

He lost two patients today before noon. The tell-tale sound of his office door slamming reverberated throughout the department and his coworkers knew to give him some space. The deaths of two kids would have tortured anyone but that was only the first half of the day. After lunch, which he couldn’t eat, he met with three more families to deliver the worst news imaginable, all with very bleak prognoses.

He had to remind himself that this was by far the worst day he had had in his professional career and that normally they weren’t like this. He knew he couldn’t cure it all; he knew that timing wasn’t always on his side. But he was really damn good at his job and everyone knew it. People came to him because he was one of the best and when he didn’t prove it, he took the failure very hard.

On top of that, his relationship, or whatever it was, had come to a conclusion the previous night. It felt wrong calling it a relationship; he couldn’t even call her a friend in good conscience because they so rarely even spoke to each other. Despite what people thought they saw, she really was just a roommate with occasional benefits. He wasn’t upset over the discontinuation of the arrangement; he was upset that he didn’t care. 

The strongest feelings he had about the situation was that he was happy she was getting away from him. They had been living together since med school. And honestly, he was disappointed in himself for apparently not having the capacity to commit to her, or anyone for that matter. Gilbert had always been clear about his investment in the relationship, and she had said she was on board, but sometimes he could see that she wanted more and it made him feel terrible because he knew he couldn’t be that for her. He tried. And he knew that it didn’t make sense that he couldn’t be with her. She was brilliant, witty and beautiful and he didn’t get why that wasn’t enough. For the first couple years he tried so hard to develop feelings for her, but determined that if it were meant to be, he probably shouldn’t have to try that hard.

But something had changed for Winnie. Apparently she met someone who finally made her want more. Gilbert was happy for her, and relieved in a way, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to stick around and watch her move out of his condo. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like he had just wasted time. He always figured he would ‘grow up and get married.’ He wondered when that would happen, and if it would happen. He certainly didn’t feel grown up and he felt decades away from marriage. He really did want to be with someone but hadn’t found anyone worth the effort. He assumed it was his fault for either not looking hard enough or being too critical. He just always figured when the right girl came along that he would know. But now he was thirty-five and couldn’t help but wonder if he might have missed her or if he just wasn’t meant to find someone.

To give Winnie space and time to move out, he worked late and then went to the coffee shop to unwind. He walked in, cursed to himself when he saw how busy it was, went to order some tea and then waited for a table to be available so he could relax. He thanked the phlebotomist who offered her table to him when she was ready to leave. She appeared to know him very well. He only knew her as Phlebotomist Number 1, because she seemed to be the only one who didn’t make the children cry. Her name was maybe Rebecca or Robin or Ruby. He couldn’t say for certain but he was pretty sure it started with an R. He wasn’t disrespectful to anyone at work, it was just that he was so wrapped up in his patients that he couldn’t see past them. Maybe Winnie leaving would give him the impetus he needed to make some changes. He set an alarm on his phone to ask… Jenny? Jane? Jessica? He shook his head in disgust with himself and typed in: ASK SARCASTIC J NURSE FOR LIST OF SUPPORT STAFF. FIGURE OUT J NAME. BE A BETTER HUMAN BEING; NO ONE WANTS TO WORK WITH AN ASSHOLE.

He took off his jacket, put it on the back of his chair and loosened his tie so he could unbutton the collar of his shirt. He went to pick up his drink when his name was called, then unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows, revealing the tattoo that senior management thought was inappropriate for a promising young oncologist to display to his patients. On the inside of his right forearm, written in his father’s handwriting, was ‘Keep your face always toward the sunshine and the shadows will fall behind you.’ It was a phrase that got his father through the death of his mother and, in turn, got Gilbert through the death of his father. It was a tattoo, sure, but he couldn’t see how this verse from Walt Whitman could possibly offend a child. He thought about fighting it, but let it slide when his immediate supervisor pointed out that in two years that guy would be gone and was going to be replaced by a woman who was dying to put her nose ring back in. Gilbert was also reminded that in probably only five years, he would have enough clout in the hospital that he could wear whatever the hell he wanted. There was no point in blowing it by getting fired for failing to follow this one simple rule for only a couple years.

He sat down and briefly took off his glasses so he could rub his eyes. Truth be told, he was exhausted, but even if he could go home, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not without getting those two kids off his mind first. He put his glasses back on and took out his notebook and his favorite pen. When he lost patients, he took time to write about them. Some of the women he had told this to thought it was so sweet, but he wasn’t doing it to be sweet; he needed to do it so he could let go and move on. Without it, the memories haunted him and he couldn’t give his living patients the attention they deserve. He found it strange that he couldn’t remember the phlebotomist’s name who he had known for three years, but he could remember so much about Kaya and Laurence, the two children who died today under his care.

Kaya was only four years old; she loved ballet and dreamed of being an astronaut. Well, actually what she really wanted to do was be a time-traveler and go back to observe dinosaurs and then figure out how exactly they had built the pyramids. She wasn’t satisfied by the current theories and needed to know more. Her parents had talked her out of time travel though and she said she was ready to settle for being an astronaut. This girl could have changed the world; he knew it, but now the world never would.

Laurence was seventeen and wanted to be a pastry chef. He won a youth baking competition the previous summer and had earned a substantial scholarship to the culinary institute. At the competition, he got to meet his celebrity chef idol and was so excited to learn that the chef was going to come teach at the school. Gilbert wondered if the chef remembered Laurence; he wondered who would tell him that he’s gone; he wondered if he would care.

Gilbert wrote for a long time; every memory he had of these children, every detail of their visits, everything he thought he could have done better and everything he knew he did well. Each child usually filled a page or two and he wrote pretty small. He also wrote about the lives he saved, but unfortunately he didn’t have any positive breakthroughs that day. He hoped that the next would be different.

After he had been there for an hour, completed writing and refilled his tea twice, he was approached and interrupted by a woman. She was average height and build but walked through the shop like she owned the place.

“Do you mind sharing your table?” she asked politely. “There is nowhere else to sit.”

“Not at all,” he said, removing his things from her side so she had room, and then continued to scribble down some ideas regarding the treatments of his other patients.

She sat down, looked at her phone for a couple minutes and then went to retrieve her beverage when her name was called. When she returned, she took off her jacket and sat down to relax. She also got out a notebook and wrote down a couple notes. When she finished, she put it away, leaned forward with her elbows on the table and began speaking.

“So… do you prefer coffee or tea?”

“Whoa, I didn’t agree to a conversation,” Gilbert said abruptly.

The woman laughed at his candor and said, “Wow. A guy who isn’t eager to talk to a pretty woman. I don’t see that every day.”

He took a moment to look at her. She was pretty; anyone would think so. She was wearing a black beanie and had long brown hair that fell in perfect curls nearly to her waist. When she arrived, she was wearing sunglasses, but took them off to reveal the bluest eyes he had ever see, almost unnaturally vibrant. Her complexion was flawless, her smile was dazzling white surrounded by lips that were painted red. She wore a gray sweater dress that accentuated all of her curves, black leggings and heeled booties. Gilbert doubted that there was a person alive who wouldn’t think she was pretty; her attractiveness was simply a fact. But to him, that was the problem; it was simply a fact. Winnie had been beautiful, witty and intelligent; it still wasn’t enough. He was really starting to wonder what the fuck was wrong with him.

“Fine,” he said, agreeing to the conversation. “I appreciate your confidence at least. Is this how you typically meet people? Sit down without an introduction and tell them that you’re pretty?”

“Only if they have a tattoo and wear glasses,” she said. “I’m Delia. And it took me years to gain this confidence and cultivate this look, so yeah, I know what is considered attractive. Do you disagree?”

He shrugged and said, “You’re pretty. You’ll get no argument from me on that.”

“But?”

“But my sister-in-law taught me long ago that women aren’t waiting around to be complimented. From the looks of it, you’ve had a long day, just like me, and undoubtedly came here to relax. If you were interested in being hit on you could have gone to a bar or a club, but you came here instead. Even if I were interested, I have no intention of interrupting you. Feel free to enjoy your beverage in peace; I won’t bother you.”

“Are you gay?” she blurted out.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

“I get what you said, and I’ll admit I admire you for it, but if I was the one who initiated the conversation, why not engage? I don’t see a ring, or an indent from a ring. So I wondered if you were gay and not only not interested, but like REALLY not interested. But really, even that wouldn’t make sense. The gays love me.”

“Wow. Really? All of the gays? You just clump them together in one big group?”

“My best friend is gay and when I was suffering a crisis of confidence in college he literally said, ‘Girl, the gays love you.’ So yeah, I’m going to take his word for it because it makes me feel good.”

Gilbert laughed and said, “I’m not gay and I’m not married. But just because I’m single doesn’t mean that I came here to get hit on.”

“I’m not hitting on you; I just talk a lot. Always have. But now I’m intrigued. What is it you do Dr.… Blythe?” she said, reading his name off of his badge.

“I’m a pediatric oncologist,” he said and then braced himself for the common reactions:  
_‘Wow, that must be so difficult!’  
‘How do you treat such a terrible thing in such young and innocent patients?’  
‘How do you deal with the devastation?’_  
He had heard it all before.

“Well, that fucking sucks,” she said.

He actually hadn’t heard that one before. He chuckled at her reaction and said, “Yeah, sometimes it really, really fucking sucks.”

“Seriously, isn’t that a really, really bleak specialty?” she asked, and he was surprised at how genuinely interested she seemed. She wasn’t making small talk; she really wanted to know.

“Not when I’m doing it well. You’d be surprised to hear that most days are really fucking good.”

She smiled at him and paused a moment before she began again.

“That makes sense. Last I checked you guys pull in a decent paycheck though. Maybe that helps make up for the shit?”

“I lost two kids today. Their futures faded away before my eyes and their families were left with holes they will never fully recover from, so no,” he said flatly. “A decent paycheck doesn’t make up for the shit; just helps pay for the therapy. Did you really think that money would make it easier?”

“Hell no. Just getting a sense for who you are. What brings you here tonight, Dr. Blythe?”

“Mostly I wanted to be out of my condo while my roommate moved out.”

“Ooooh, bad break up?”

“No.”

“Care to share?”

“Why do you care?”

“Curious by nature, sue me. Plus, if I don’t ask you questions I will absolutely sit here and talk about myself all night. I’m just trying to make this a discussion rather that a lecture.”

“You are too kind,” he said sarcastically.

“I know. So?”

He laughed again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this much. He explained, “A woman is moving out of my apartment and hopefully onto a real relationship where she will be treated how she deserves to be treated. She is beautiful and clever and despite living with her for nearly a decade I was never able to come up with any real feelings for her besides the biological urges that occasionally had us enjoying a good night. So now you know; I am broken. What do you think about your table choice now?”

“I think I fucking nailed it. Did you figure that all out on your own? That you didn’t have the right feelings for a relationship with her?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re better than me. I was dating a guy for a long time, I even married him for a couple minutes. Hot take: don’t go to Vegas. Anyway. I didn’t even figure out the problem on my own; I figured it out while watching reruns of 30 Rock.”

He smiled and said, “Really?”

“Yeah. Who’s the broken one now?”

“Maybe not broken so much as slow?”

She laughed and said, “Okay, I’m aware that you don’t know me, but I have never been called slow in my entire life.”

He shrugged and smirked and said, “Maybe you just needed the perspective of an outsider.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “Liz was at this sandwich counter talking about this thing she kept eating just because it was fine. It was convenient and consistent and didn’t make her feel bad about her body. Of course then she realizes-”

“That she’s talking about her shit boyfriend, Dennis, yeah. I remember. I’m a huge fan of Tina Fey.”

“Same. Don’t get me wrong. Roy wasn’t like Dennis. But he was definitely like that sandwich and it wasn’t enough. He was so nice and I tried to love him, but I just couldn’t. Something was missing. Fine isn’t good enough when it’s supposed to be forever, you know?”

“I know.”

“Did you break your friend’s heart?”

“I don’t think so. There were times she seemed disappointed, but that’s it. I don’t think I’ll ever know. We really didn’t talk that much. What about Roy? Was he pissed?”

“Pissed isn’t the right word. Sad, devastated, a month of ‘Why would you do this to me?’ You know, the works. I felt terrible. I still do. I didn’t mean to lead him on. And I really thought I was like, in it, you know? But it wasn’t right. I knew it was going to hurt him but at least he has a chance now to find someone better for him, right?”

“Makes sense to me, but I don’t know that I have room to speak with any authority on the subject.”

“But you’re a doctor!” she joked. “Aren’t you supposed to have all the answers?”

“If you want to hear a two-hour lecture on different chemo treatments then yeah, I’m your guy, but besides that, not so much.”

“A modest doctor. That’s new,” she said mostly to herself and then gestured to his arm and asked, “I see you like Whitman?”

“I like him well enough, mostly I loved my dad and he liked Whitman.”

He was becoming more and more intrigued by this woman. Their conversation alone was entertaining, but she had made herself stand out even more by knowing who Walt Whitman was; his friends only knew about Whitman because of his tattoo.

“Do you know the line ‘We were together, I forget the rest’?” she asked and he nodded slowly, stunned. He knew the line. He had dreamt about the line. He had used the line as his yearbook quote in honor of his father.

“That’s what I want,” she continued. “And I wasn’t getting that with Roy. I want something that is so… so vast and all-encompassing that it makes everything else fade away. And I’m not saying that work isn’t important and that you can’t be fulfilled that way, but it’s just different. I just, I want to be loved like that. And there was no way Roy was going to be that for me and I certainly couldn’t give that to him. Hell, I didn’t even like sharing a pizza with him. Trying to convince myself it could happen wasn’t going to make it happen.”

“So what is it that is missing then?” Gilbert asked her honestly. “What is it that we should be looking for?”

“I don’t know. I honestly am just looking for someone I actually want to talk to when I get home, you know?”

“Yes!” Gilbert agreed. “Winnie and I are both doctors but I don’t know that we had anything else in common. And I didn’t need to ask her questions about work because I already knew what she had done that day. I tried to find some other common ground and there was nothing.”

“Not even like, sports or anything?”

Gilbert’s face grew serious, “She thought dressage was a sport, so no. Not even sports.”

She chuckled and asked, “Music?”

“I enjoy classical music just fine, but if I ever have to have sex while listening to Vivaldi again I swear I will die.”

Delia laughed loudly.

“She was obsessed with classical music and again, I really do enjoy it, but there has been some decent music made in the last two hundred years and I enjoy exploring that as well.”

“Variety is a good thing,” she agreed. “I’m going to go get another drink. Do you need anything?”

“Tea,” he said gently, answering her first question. “I’m a tea guy. Thank you.”

He watched her walk away from him and admitted to himself that he might be attracted to her, but something was still off. She was so intriguing and again, so pretty, but the two didn’t match. And he wasn’t saying interesting women couldn’t be pretty, not at all, it was just that something seemed off. She returned with the beverages and began talking again.

“I’m an investigative journalist, by the way. I don’t think I ever said.”

“I’ll admit I didn’t see that coming. Should I assume you’re investigating something at the hospital?”

“Assume whatever you like, but I’m pretty sure I’m not investigating you, so that’s good.”

“Oh, I know that. If anyone thought I was worth investigating, they would probably be crazy and then they would be really, really bored.”

“Please, you’re not boring.”

“Maybe boring isn’t the right word. I’m predictable and even-tempered. Except when I lose a patient, then I’m prone to slamming doors and punching the couch in my office.”

“Well Mr. Blythe, I’m spontaneous and passionate, unless I’m working. People don’t like being interviewed by normal me; she gets a little intense.”

“You don’t seem very intense, fun and interesting, but not intense.”

“Oh honey,” she said condescendingly, “This isn’t normal me. I already told you, I’ve spent years cultivating this look. The disposition comes with it, though I admit I’ve been more myself tonight than I have been in a long time, so thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome for that. Everyone says they’re spontaneous though. They think it makes them more appealing.”

“You think you have me all figured out?”

“Look around, you fit a stereotype, sorry.”

“I should correct myself then. Maybe I’m not so much spontaneous as surprising. You have no idea who you are dealing with.”

“Delia, you are an exceptionally interesting person, but you look like six other people in this shop alone. You’re telling me you don’t fit the stereotype of cute city girl?”

“I really, really don’t,” she said with a sly grin.

“Then prove it,” he challenged her. “What makes Delia stand apart from the crowd?”

“Besides my winning personality?”

“Obviously,” he responded, and he meant it.

“What is it the kids say these days? Hold my beer?”

“I have no idea what the kids say. I cross the street when I see the youths coming,” he joked.

She reached for her purse and dug out a contact lens holder. He watched as she removed her contacts, revealing eyes that weren’t vibrantly blue, but an intense stormy gray. She took out a package of wipes next, took one out and cleared the make-up from her face. Gilbert had heard Winnie refer to putting on her face before but he had never seen anything like this. The flawless façade was gone, revealing skin that wasn’t flawed but adorned by the most intriguing and beautiful freckles he had ever seen. Her eyebrows had gone from dark brown to a light chestnut color and the red lipstick disappeared. She took a simple cherry Chapstick out of her purse to rehydrate what he had just noticed were very naturally luscious lips. Last, she removed her beanie, and with it, the waist length, highlighted and perfectly curled brown hair and she tucked it neatly and carefully into her purse. Her natural hair was a light coppery red and had been pulled into a bun at the base of her neck. She untied it and it fell over her shoulders in semi-damp waves, apparently never having dried from showering that morning. She ran her fingers through it and shook it out, sighing at how good it felt to let her hair down.

Gilbert stared at her and she stared back, almost as if she were daring him to say something. Eventually he realized that his mouth was open. He shut it quickly and blinked hard, trying to comprehend her transformation. It wasn’t just that she was stunning; it was that somehow that moment between them felt more intimate than any other in his entire life.

“Is it stupid that looking and acting a certain way gets me faster results? Yes. But I’m a busy woman and I don’t like wasting time. I do what I need to do to get the job done. And I’m not trying to brag, but I’m really fucking good at my job.”

Gilbert was still unable to speak.

“I’m Anne, by the way,” she said, offering her hand to him. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

He smiled, took her hand and was immediately impressed by the strength in her handshake.

“Gilbert,” he responded. “It’s really, really nice to meet you Anne.”

“You prefer Anne to Delia?” she asked, fairly sure of the answer but awaiting confirmation.

“So much,” he answered honestly. “You are incredibly beautiful.”

“So now it’s okay to hit on me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said smugly. “I’m simply stating a fact.”

“And what would your sister-in-law have to say about you stating that fact?” Anne joked.

“She would agree,” he answered quickly.

Anne bit her lips together, trying not to laugh too hard.

“So… Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?” Gilbert asked and she nodded in affirmation. “What exactly are you investigating at the hospital? Are you sure talking to me doesn’t present some kind of conflict of interest?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you’re interested.”

“I am way past interested.”

**Author's Note:**

> The conversation that spurred this was:  
> Stranger: Do you mind if I share this table with you?  
> Man: Not at all.  
> *One minute later  
> Stranger: So are you a coffee guy or a tea guy?  
> Man: Whoa, we didn’t agree to a conversation.


End file.
